Whispers

I do good things and feel unfulfilled

I do awful things and feel unchanged

I learn things about the world and become less amused

I sleep but still feel unwell.

Where did I used to go

To hear music

And art

And dancing

And eccentric full body laughter

Accompanied by human chaos for a cocktail and an hour?

The memory feels so old. I cannot recall the place.

I miss you, New Orleans.

I miss the world

And my mother and father

And the lovers I left behind; those who left me.

I miss the Christmas excitement of a six year old and the possibility that magic is real

I miss believing that the world is a transcendent place full of wonder.

I touch but I do not feel.

I look but I do not see.